Whisper To Me Gently
by Celira
Summary: [VII: Why Momo wears her hair in a bun.] Here is a girl, dreaming. Here is a flame, burning. A collection of pieces and drabbles about Hinamori Momo and the ties that bind.
1. Elemental

I've been writing a number of short pieces about Hinamori Momo over the last few months; her character is complex, but fascinating. I finally decided to revise them and compile them here- they aren't going to be in any particular order, nor will they particularly be linked aside from being attached to the manga timeline. This means that spoilers through current chapters should be expected.

Hope you enjoy. As you read these, I'd like your constructive criticism.

Takes place some time after Momo wakes up, post-Soul Society arc.

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Elemental

Momo is sitting atop a futon in a room that is hers and belongs to someone else. Since sitting is not an activity that requires much concentration, her attention is neither in that room nor at the present time.

In her mind's eye, she leafs through a book, one of the precious few that rests atop the bookshelf in the back of the shed. It's been long since any book sat straight-spined within it, as many of the boards have rotted away or fallen prey to some insect (that couldn't have been nearly as hungry as she is now but that's another matter) but the home-slash-orphanage can't bring itself to care, and it technically can't afford to. It is a dictionary, and one wonders at how the crumbling pages induce such rapture- such that she refuses to close her eyes in spite of the dust stinging at them lest she miss a word. Only when the watering escalates to the point where it clouds her vision does she blink vigorously for a moment.

She has never been one to define things and set them into concrete terms, so when she demanded (of her self) to know how to describe nature and everything in it after the last lightning storm (great trees so easily felled!) she was waved away toward something that would humour her endless inquiries. And so she finds that words have many, many definitions, and that the word 'element' is very perplexing.

_A fundamental, essential, or irreducible constituent of a composite entity._

Picking at a spot on the futon, jerked back to the normal flow of time after having recalled what definition she sought, she acknowledges that she is a part of this spiritual plane as much as any other person.

_The basic assumptions or principles of a subject._

And as that is, she serves- the world, the dead, the living, those _close to her--_

_A member of a set._

And as that was, she did not wholly expect to be played like a pawn, an unsuspecting piece in the larger frame of, well, things.

And as she ponders what has come to pass, her convictions have still not changed. She still serves to protect those close to her. She looks past broken shards of what once was, and listens to the sounds of reconstruction outside while noting that everything has returned to normal and it is not possible for anything to be the same. Her face is planted into the futon at an angle that causes her nose to practice its gymnastics, and forces one eye shut. She smells tea and flowers and life and makes another note to either have the futon aired out or transferred to her quarters.

The image in her mind shimmers, distorted, clouded by mist. She shuts both eyes now, tightly, and wishes for one quick guilty moment that he could've washed her away, instead of just fogging everything up--

And opens them. She will not be left scrabbling, purposeless, now that much of her purpose has disappeared (into the sky, they say? Fitting, but people such as he do not merely evaporate) and her house of cards has been toppled.

_One of four substances, earth, air, fire, or water, regarded as a fundamental constituent of the universe._

The solution is elementary.

She will simply have to begin assuming preference for ice over water.

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Written for 31 Days on LJ, August 8: (you shimmer like words I barely hear)


	2. First Flight

Here on FF dot net, hits are certainly not proportional to reviews. Thank you for reading, though.

Short pre-series speculation drabble, in which Momo meets Tobiume.

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First Flight

Momo writes her next paper cheerfully. And rather painfully, considering that the skin on the hand that she grips the brush with is at first glance, reddened and at second glance, cracked and peeling; upon further examination, the blisters nestling there make their presence known as well. Unless the nerves in her fingers are on leave in the leisure district or hiding in an endeavour to escape one of the demon-arts tests, one would imagine that it would hurt at least somewhat.

They're second-degree burns, at worst, and despite the tendency of some 4th Division members to overexaggerate diagnoses, even an academy first-year might have been able to express some worry at the abused tissue. But the smile that Momo wears is glowing and self-satisfied.

With each scratch of brush against paper- her neat handwriting oddly stilted today- a spot of red appears on her skin and fades as the pressure of the wood transfers to another finger, as the ink forms characters. Her hands are small and unremarkable. They have not likely been through this much before. 

But they have held onto fire with surety today, fire which they will discover and harness.

The steel at her side smiles and decides that this will be an interesting alliance.

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Written on June 3, for Hinamori's birthday.


	3. Pedestal, Rising

During their academy days; speculation.

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Pedestal, Rising

To be honest, he should have known from the moment he watched as she gaped at the 'five' on the man's departing back as he left to eliminate a few stray hollows- that look on her face.

He'd often seen it mirrored on his own.

"Kira-kun," she said, placing a hand on his arm and effectively stopping him from walking to his next training session.

He blinked. "Hinamori-kun?"

She swallowed visibly. "You hear more and remember more than me, Kira-kun. Is it true that Ichimaru-san is challenging the Third's captain for his seat? I mean, are the rumors true?"

Izuru tilted his head to one side, thinking. It was true that he did keep track of the goings-on in regards to seatings in the Gotei 13. But why would she be curious? "Aa. Vice Captain Ichimaru has been interested in commanding his own division for some time, they say."

She nodded, a small smile appearing on her worried features. "That's nice to hear, and good for him." Always the amicable soul. "I suppose this means that the captain will need to choose another to replace him."

Captain. Which captain-- ah, right. For her, there was only ever one. He ignored the knot that had decided to make its presence known in his stomach and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. "I'm sure you've got a very good chance, Hinamori-kun."

Eyes wide, she looked up at him accusingly despite the color rising in her cheeks. "Wha--?"

He shook his head, cutting her off. "It's okay to be ambitious, you know."

She giggled a bit, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Thank you, Kira-kun." Releasing the sword at her side that she'd been unknowingly clenching, she turned and walked away.

Instead of continuing on to his destination, he could only watch her leave, and sighed. He was trying to catch fire in a paper bag, really. There was a flash of white, and he turned around and glanced down the hallway.

He met green eyes staring at him levelly from behind a corner, and acknowledged the young shinigami behind him with an incline of his head. Returning the gesture, the other left, his hair echoing the white scarf fluttering behind him that Izuru had seen.

Izuru shook his head. Maybe there were others who were worse off than he.  
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Written in April as a response to a request. Feel free to offer concrit.


	4. Hear My Cry

Inside her mind, during episode 36 or manga volume 12; basically dumping kindling on the fire.

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Hear My Cry

She looks skyward, where Kira(-kun? why?) is suspended in the air, and as she can feel Tobiume shrieking in crossed fury and Wabisuke hissing back at the challenge with equal fervor, and her mind is detached from her body- which is set firmly in a stance that raises her sword in the air regardless of the tears fleeing from the corners of her eyes and if she grips the hilt any more tightly her hand will bleed freely but at least it won't shake and what's the price of a few drops compared to him?- because it's too preoccupied with its agony and such pain it is, searing through her more so than the pain from any training burn her firebird can give her, and behind her his lifeblood drips at a pace far more steady than the beating of her heart; it's a wonder it can beat at all, and what's the point of a pulse, anyway? his isn't moving, thanks, so why is hers? and so she guards that which is-was-will-be-has-been most precious to her, like a lioness except _so much_ more blatantly _wronged_ and as she catches sight of that smile, mocking her from behind its vice-captain, she swings forward inwardly screaming _vengeance vengeance how when why?--_

And then her advance is cut short abruptly, and height advantage means that she doesn't have to raise her eyes (quite the contrary) to meet green and snow and while her mouth cries _Hitsugaya-kun?_ her mind pleads _let me take a step closer-_

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Written for 31 Days on LJ, August 9: (a boy)


	5. Skim Along, Love

Takes place soon after the end of the Soul Society arc, after she awakens.

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Skim Along, Love

Hinamori is sitting outside, on a stone bench that is cut into the wall of the Fifth Division's headquarters building. The bench faces the courtyard, and she is sitting with her back, straight as a board and stiffer than one, with surprise.

Surprise, maybe, but also resignation. Muted shock, maybe. it hasn't really settled in, but she knows she will feel the shockwaves once she recovers from the haze that has surrounded her for the last weeks. (In that case, she has made up her mind to never feel those waves, as wouldn't recovering mean that she has come to terms or some sort of inner peace within herself? Hard to fathom, that.)

But, well, this. She looks at the garden, their garden no longer and therefore hardly hers- it's a thing of beauty, still, but already it's seen the effects of neglect. Ivy crawls upwards along the walls, already taking advantage of the opportunity, and once-tame plots are beginning to sprawl in cautious rebellion. The setting sun coaxes shadows into life, creating chaos among the leaves where there is none and she has to remind herself out loud: it's just your imagination! But she scans the petals, some more withered than others, against her will. Her incapacitation let the flowers suffer, and the asters- she stops. He doted on the asters, smiling warmly down at them and then back up at--

She tears her eyes away from that direction, pulling her white robe around her more tightly, looking anywhere but there and lands on the pond in the corner. When he had suggested a water garden as an addition to their courtyard- theirs, always theirs, for no one else to trespass upon- she had worried. It would contrast too sharply with the rest of the garden, she said, and really, the visual effect- He quieted her with a finger to her lips, and while she had panicked inwardly and made most admirable efforts to act as if she were not blushing a shade of red almost comparable with the color that Vice-Captain Kusajishi dyed Captain Ukitake's hair the day before last, he said that he would handle it, and ruffled her hair.

Now, she can only stare as she watches the moon rise and reflect against the surface of the water, and her hands shake as she clenches them into fists. She wishes for Tobiume's companionship, now, and the promise of fire, the whisper that each of those delicate blooms could be consumed by flame- but could those lilypads ignite? Would they burn merrily, little islands above the water, or would they be quenched before they could start?

She slowly, slowly relaxes her hands, blunted nails still leaving half-moons printed in her palms. But she doesn't lift her eyes from the water, the eerily-colored moon's reflection reminding her of flame that will never be. She can no more harm their garden than she can erase him from her mind.

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Written for 31 Days on LJ, August 22: (this red, red moon)


	6. Ignorance Is

Since I torture Hinamori so much, one might think, perhaps I'd let up on her once in a while. …Alas, no. But here we have a quantity of an utterly pointless attempt at comic relief. Spoilers through end of SS arc, as usual.

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Ignorance Is…

The concerned figures of various female officers in the 13 divisions were gathered around a sobbing, quivering heap of fifth-division-officer crumpled on the tatami in an arbitrary female officers' lounge.

"A-and--" hic "-I could have sworn that I m-meant something to him--" sniffle "b-but he stabbed me and-- and now I'm just hereallbymyseeee--" Hinamori collapsed into Matsumoto, who, in her infinite charity, hugged her tightly and endeavored not to smother her with her ample chest.

Ise Nanao, sitting on Hinamori's other side, patted her on the back gingerly. Looking vaguely unsettled and as if she wasn't quite sure how to go about being sympathetic, she said uncomfortably, "Well, at least he didn't wear pink."

There was silence as the women present considered this.

"No," Hinamori said with considerable decisiveness- considering that she'd been hyperventilating a moment ago- "I think he'd look good in pink."

Standing against the wall near them but at a polite distance, Soi Fong's eyes shifted. "At least she—ah, that is, _your_ person hasn't left you for a century." 

"He m-might." Glare.

Kotetsu-- Isane, was it?-- handed her a tissue. "Hey, at least he's not dating a guy with a rabid pet pink chipmunk and a thing for blood." (Somewhere, two captains and a ball of supercharged sugar with a vice-captain's rank sneezed.) "Here, have some ice cream. Eating unhealthy amounts of ice cream always makes you feel better." She pushed a conveniently-placed bowl closer to her.

Her sister, sitting on the other side, stopped the bowl's advance. "You're from Fourth Division, though. Aren't you supposed to make sure that we stay healthy?" Kiyone asked. "And is ice cream even supposed to exist up here? Or chipmunks?"

"...Plot point," offered Nanao.

Sage nods went about the room. 

"Ah, Hinamori," Matsumoto said with the breezy air of the experienced, "at least he didn't completely just use you and lose you."

"...yes he did--"

"At least he wasn't using two people at the same time," a voice cut in.

There was silence as the women present considered someone not a woman.

"Kira," Soi Fong said at last, "what are you doing here?"

Matsumoto waved a hand lazily. "He counts."

"...Oh, okay," said Hinamori. She nodded understandingly.

(it's best to gripe about relationships in good company)

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…I make no excuses.

Chena Pan, your review made my day when I read it. Thank you; I'm glad that I've managed to do so, as Hinamori really has more facets than fandom would usually credit her for.


	7. Fit to be Tied

Arbitrary vice-captain's meeting, presumably takes place shortly before the SS arc begins.

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Fit to be Tied

Draped over the side of a couch, Matsumoto-san stretched, and the room's occupants turned away. Whether it was out of politeness, of the painful-sounding popping of a joint in her back, or the opportune movement of clothing across her chest indicated by the light blush across Hisagi-san's face-- was anyone's guess, and Momo wasn't up to guessing.

Neither was she up for the sudden question from the stretcher. "Hinamori, why do you wear your hair like that?"

The assorted vice-captains had gathered and arranged themselves haphazardly across the meeting room in various stages of polite disinterest or boredom. While captains' meetings were punctual, official, and far duller, their vice-captains didn't bother with the guise of a meeting on some days. Truly, this was a place to dump the vice-captains while they were waiting for their superiors to finish untangling whatever mess of bureaucracy was up for debate at the moment; today was one of those times where No One Bothered Pretending, so it seemed to her. After all, not even half of the officers had bothered to attend, and Abarai-kun was slumped over where he sat, snoring somewhat indelicately.

Kira-kun nodded. "Ah, right; Hinamori-kun always used to wear her hair in..." He gestured vaguely to the side of his head.

"Pigtails?" Momo supplied, picking at the hem of her hakama. She, at least, was kneeling on the tatami, legs folded primly. "Um, my hair grew too long for that."

Matsumoto-san blinked. "Ah, but that shouldn't keep you from doing it. Was it such a bother?" she queried. "Or did it just get in the way too much?"

Momo hesitated, eyeing her colleague. Matsumoto-san's shimmering waves of hair looked remarkably untangled, and she shrugged. "No more than yours would, but it's more practical."

Of course, as Tobiume had suggested helpfully when she'd become a ranked officer, one reason for the change in hairstyle was that hair was very flammable and the most prudent course of action would have been to cut it off entirely. She'd tied it up into a ponytail once, but the best way she could keep her hair long and not accidentally get it caught in her own shikai was a bun.

Matsumoto raised one shoulder in a half-shrug with a yawn. "It makes you look more mature, anyway."

Momo hoped no one caught sight of the pink flush skittering across her cheeks then. As if on cue, the door to the adjoining room flew open, and the captains of Soul Society's Gotei 13 flowed out; after Kuchiki-taichou had unceremoniously knocked his subordinate awake and she'd waved to Hitsugaya-kun, she caught warm brown eyes behind lenses and scrambled to her feet.

Aizen-taichou smiled and placed a hand on her head, and her mind finished the preceding train of thought for her. Another convenient reason as to why she kept her hair up was that Aizen-taichou had once mentioned that it was like a beautiful secret-- since her hair was always in a bun, it was startling that her hair was so pretty and long when it was down.

(Later, after all was done and he-- they were gone and little was said, she cut it for practicality's sake and Hitsugaya said in an oddly rough voice that it looked good anyway.)

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Comments? Questions? Pies? All are welcome (though pies should preferably not be directed to my face).


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